Skip to main content

Waves


I'm sitting on the beach watching wave after wave come in. And they are so soft, so gentle. A quiet little splash. Not big angry ocean waves like they were a few days ago - those kind that make you step back a bit and wonder if something bad is going to happen. Not today, Satan. These waves are soothing to the eye, to the heart, to the soul. They restore us. Make us see beauty again. I think we are all looking for that. 

We've all been hit by waves these last few years. Those kind that knock us to the ground and toss us to and fro. I remember being little, jumping in the "rollies" with my cousins. We could handle that. It was fun. But then that one wave that you had to dive under really quick but it still caught you and threw you and you ended up with water in your nose and all discombobulated and you weren't sure you could hear or see or breathe. You had to go sit down and recover from the shock. Your mother would wrap you in a big sun-warmed beach towel and get you settled. It took a bit to catch your breath again. I'm feeling that way. From health to policing, to heat and politics, everyone is getting hit by these shock waves. The thing is these shock waves linger. We can't escape their after effects. It has felt like a wave machine, one after the other coming at us. And I didn't even mention the war in Ukraine. I have tried to give up the news. Too many shocks, too many waves that have us unbuoyed and out to sea and looking for land. How are we going to catch our breath again? 

The other night I had a conversation with a friend who is a speech therapist. She talked about all the kids have lost over these last few years - the thousands of conversations that didn't happen because they couldn't talk! She shared how selective mutism is on the rise. Their brains are hard-wired differently than before. As we teachers get ready for this school year we have to recognize and account for all that loss. What a shock! How are we going to help these kids catch their breath?

Earlier in the summer, I was in a professional development workshop with a psychologist. She shared how in a normal situation, one who is suffering a loss can rely on someone who is not suffering to help them through. I'm definitely not describing it as well as she did, but basically, one who is grounded and regulated is helping offer support to someone who is dysregulated and then the suffering person can regulate against that. Mothers do this with children, teachers do this with their students. But right now, we are all struggling to find that normalcy, to get back to regulation. We are all in the waves together. How do we get out of this? 

I can remember times in my life when I didn't know how I was going to get through, the death of my brother, the loss of a job, the lows of a child's depression. Then suddenly, when I thought I was at the bottom, a wave of peace that settled in me brought me back to my grounded state. Once it happened with a group of people who surrounded me and filled me with love. Once it happened when a friend who really understood stood by me and stood up for me. Once it happened when I just looked into my child's eyes and saw the light again. 

We aren't done with the shocks. And the aftershocks seem to last forever. I looked up how long the shocks last after an earthquake. It can go on for years. I know I'm mixing metaphors, but these waves or earthquakes or whatever you want to call them are real. How will we recover? How will we get back to that gently regulated state? For me now, the answer is in these gentle waves. They don't pick up all the seaweed and sand and shells and shake them about. They don't pick up much at all. That's a reminder that I can't pick up too much right now. They aren't that dark blue-brown of the turbulent ocean, they are just light blueish green, just reflecting the sky. I need to just reflect, not try to fix. They are soft in sound, not loud and overbearing. I need to walk and talk quietly. They are clear. I need to just be, not try to hold everything in and hold everything together. It's okay to let go. 

A few other things are getting me through. Looking at beautiful pictures. Trying to make a plant healthy. I bought a watercolor workbook from this website. (I am not being paid or anything... it's just something I found.) A friend gave me some beautiful cards with lovely quotes. These are the gentle waves I'll carry with me through this next season when I'm not able to get to the beach. I'll listen to a pretty song. I'll make some cookies. And I know that somewhere I'll get knocked down by another wave. But hopefully, I'll find a hand to hold and a warm beach towel waiting for me. 

 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Bundling

 My husband accuses me of bundling. Like everything. I won't go down the basement until I have collected a pile of everything that could possibly need to go down. So I'll bring the laundry down to the kitchen and then I'll start bundling. The old front door wreath goes on top of the laundry, The drill I used in the garden yesterday - on top. The Fourth of July banner on top of that. I can amass quite a pile. The same goes when I'm out doing errands. I have a doctor's appointment in Mt. Laurel? Hmm. I can stop at the Home Sense store, the big Dollar Tree, the Produce Junction, the Michaels, and the Container Store. All on my way home! I like bundling. Not just because it saves trips, which equates to gas, but it also saves my energy. If I separated those trips it would be hours or even days of travel. I don't have time for that. When I can I want to tie everything together and wrap it up. With a pretty bow.  Bundling was an act of desperation back when the kids w...

Changing Seasons

Today is the first day back to school after break.   We are breaking into my mother’s house to steal an Ugly Sweater at 5 in the morning because it is Ugly Sweater Day and we have driven home from a gathering through the night up and down hilly, unlit, back roads where we saw a family of deer who spoke to us to tell us we were on the wrong road and they directed us back to a traffic-filled highway and on the roof we have tied some old evergreen branches that we will try to form into a tree because we forgot to get a Christmas tree when we had to take my son to the emergency room because he was spouting blood from his finger and while we were there my other son had a bloody nose and they were going to take him into surgery… But then I woke up.   The first day of school is not until tomorrow.   Today is January 4.   It is the Changing of Seasons around here.    Changing from the season of sleeping in and wearing pajamas, drinking 5 cups of coffee, some w...

What Is Grief?

 What is grief? It is standing in the shower and  you are suddenly crying and then you are sobbing. And you barely thought about it in the two days since you heard  your Uncle Rich passed. You thought about your dad and your cousins and your aunt and how sad they must be and you checked in on your dad. "I'm so so sorry." And you went to work and you did what you had to do. And now you are ready for another day and you are thinking of all the things and then you are crying and you are little again and vulnerable  and your heart hurts. And you remember everyone. Medford Lakes and a swimming pool and laughing so hard  and dancing around a Christmas tree and fireworks by the lake at night. And you can see his face and all their faces smiling Aunts and uncles and cousins and brothers who aren't here. And you remember his voice, deep and laughing, and you remember his kindness and his advice. "Are you taking vitamin C, Joannie?" You see all their faces and you mis...